Forecasting Disasters
by transcendently
Summary: AU; Appeasing spirits isn't a cakewalk, and neither is having to deal with their flighty brothers who can't seem to understand that coffee and chili sauce don't mix. Sequel to Seventy Percent Chance of Rain. MukuGoku. SqualoDino.


**AN:** This is for Roka's birthday. Except it was in April. And I haven't finished it. Nevertheless, I intend to finish it, being the new year and all. For now, please enjoy.

**Forcasting Disasters**

It's always cool whenever Roku comes over to sleep.

It's unbearably stupid, almost criminal that despite having a working heating system, fantastically warm blankets, and an ever-present pot of hot tea on the stove, that he always come into Haya's cold, dark dungeon of an apartment to spend the night.

But Roku insists, making his way in, or more like crawls in from a makeshift hole that he (actually they, though Haya will never admit to peeling the wallpaper off inch by inch every day) made in between their rooms, slips under the covers and pulls Haya close next to him. Jokes that Haya's the security blanket and he can't sleep without it. Says it's like a bad habit he could never get rid of.

And Haya jokes along, berating him and constantly shoves him off and tells Roku to get back into his own apartment, but it gets harder, he realizes, in those times when Roku quietly obeys, preferring to catch up on sleep rather than having to stay up all night listening to Haya whine when he has to leave the next day, that really—it's terribly lonely.

And that worst of all, he's becoming incredibly selfish.

**

"When will you be back?" he asks.

"Don't know," Roku replies truthfully, stealing six cartons of strawberry milk from Haya's refrigerator and downing them one by one, their empty containers lined up on the counter in military precision.

And he hates that answer. Hates it because it was so uncertain, so imprecise: it was almost as bad as the time Roku left for three whole months but not quite so, because at least then Haya knew and he didn't have to wait and wait by his balcony, wait for the soft tapping of the windowpane, and his chance to tell Roku off for not using the door like a normal inhabitant and listen to the reassuring reply back that the man would never be 'normal'. But even though Haya never tells him this, Roku had somehow instinctively picked this up and always tries to give him at least a time bracket, but lately, it's getting harder and harder and in tandem, Haya gets more and more frustrated.

Though he knows he shouldn't be.

He knows, he knows because Roku told of the several decades he's forgotten or missed 'appointments', how terribly 'upset' his mother gets over his tardiness, and the all-important 'agreement' he made with the 'higher-ups'. Roku never really went into full details about these, persay, but Haya didn't miss the guilty bite of the lower lip or the inaudible sigh as Roku's strawberry cake and sugary coffee went untouched.

He also knows probably should stop staring at Roku's mouth.

But he could neither stop that or Roku from leaving, so he offers a chocolate bar and canned coffee for the trip and in exchange, he gets a sugary feather kiss on his lips and a warning: "beware the Ides of March".

"Did you find out if I'm really Caesar reincarnated?" Haya deadpans.

"Not sure, but I always have that date circled on my calendar. Just stay away from the town square or best friends." Roku half-jokes, half-warns before opening the balcony, peering out of the gray February sky and waves a hand to signal his departure. "Don't wait up for me."

"I won't." Haya promised.

They both knew that was a lie.

**

It was a terribly boring Ides of March.

No coup d'états were carried out, no new regimes were declared, and Ryo never bothered to turn up, not even to punch him in the face or anything.

He supposes he should be happy for it, really.

But sometime around three in the afternoon, he realizes he should have been much, _much_ more thankful of a calm March Fifteenth.

The shutters rattled, the ceiling fans swayed, the tables shook, and anything not bolted down trembled or blew away. And just when Haya was about to call an earthquake emergency, _he_ breezes in.

He's sporting a pair of designer sunglasses perched on top of his head and a shock of expertly mussed up blonde hair. The rest of his attire followed the same suit: seemingly careless, yet obviously done up meticulously.

"It's you," Haya blurts out quickly, no one else seemed to have noticed him coming in, though everything about him screams for attention.

"Me?" The man smirks, shoving his sunglasses on his head even higher. "I suppose Roku already told you about me."

Haya nods slightly.

"Great, no need for introductions," the man claps his hand on Haya's shoulder. "I've heard all sorts of rumors about your coffee, mind making me some n-"

"Hey."

The teen in question looked up to acknowledge the voice. Oh. "Hey. Regular?"

The man strides all the way to the counter and places his money on the counter, ignoring the other man already there. "Yes."

"And I, will be having what this gentleman is having." Haya and the customer both turned, the latter looking though as if he'd just seen the other man, though Haya suspects is what the case really was.

"Di, sir." The blonde man introduces, grabbing the taller man's hand with both of his own and pumping it up and down enthusiastically, "It's really quite a pleasure to meet you. Is that a new tie? It looks absolutely fantastic on you, why don't we sit down so you can tell me all about it-"

"Busy," the man clipped, wrenching his arm away from Di's grip, quietly thanking Haya before snatching his black coffee and biscotti off the counter before taking his leave.

A tap. Haya places a second order of coffee and biscotti in front of Di, with an outstretched hand. "That'll be 470."

**

"Brothers?"

Haya raises an eye and shakes his head. "Just a regular." After the man had departed, Di had decidedly been more polite to Haya, though it also meant that he wouldn't leave him alone, sitting along the bar counter, swinging his impossible long legs to and fro as Haya did his best to ignore him.

"Does he come often?"

"What's his name?"

"What does he do?"

Haya nodded to every question, but he chose not to answer. If there's one thing about gods, it's that it's not an incredibly fantastic idea to lie to them if you can't run fast or aren't smart enough to trick them. And even though Haya had been on the track team in high school, this _was_ a wind spirit, after all.

"So what I'm gathering," Di finally concluded, swirling the contents of his cup, pinky sticking out in proper fashion, "is that he comes Monday through Friday, works in some government agency, possibly in one of the European Embassies, and you don't really know his name, but made up a nickname for him that you're pretty certain he'll slaughter you if he ever hears you say it." Di leaned closer. "Tell me more."

Haya clamped down on his tongue, intent on stirring the cappuccino in front of him to oblivion. Maybe he should've tried running after all.

TBC


End file.
